


The Counterpart

by nymja



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Belligerent Sexual Tension, Dark, Darkside AU, F/M, Multiship aka Rey has two boyfriends, Rivals, Sith Rey, Time Skips, Tumblr Prompt, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-07-24 11:30:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7506541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nymja/pseuds/nymja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Look upon each other well,” Snoke says as his hologram begins to flicker into darkness. “For the next time you meet in this room, one of you will die.”</p><p>--</p><p>A young Rey is raised as a Sith to become Kylo Ren's rival.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Feral

**Author's Note:**

> for the tumblr prompt of ds!Rey. Rating + warnings may be subject to change, enjoy :B

**prologue.**  
_Choose someone hungrier and you will be devoured._

_\--_

They find her when she is a young, feral thing. Her limbs are thin, malnourished. Eyes sunken and belly rounded from starvation. She is all teeth and hunger, screaming and clawing as two Stormtroopers pull her through the halls of _The Finalizer._ Sand trails out of her boots as they drag on the floor.

“Let me _go_!” She demands, her legs kicking out. Her teeth gnashing. A sob echoes before it is absorbed and sterilized in the metal paneling of the halls. “Let me _go back_!”

Her eyes connect with his as he watches them cart her to the detainment cells. He assumes she’s meant for the training facilities of Hux’s soldiers.

 Her breath hitches. “ _Please_!”

He doesn’t move or react.

A door rises up behind her, taking her from view. And Kylo Ren thinks that some savage things are better left being put out of their misery.

\--

He doesn’t see or think about the girl until a year passes. He has returned to the halls of Starkiller Base, summoned by the Supreme Leader. Part of him is resentful that he has to leave his training, but he must surrender to the wisdom of his Master in all things.

Kylo storms into the audience chamber, his rapid pace slowing when he sees a small figure in the distance.

She is hunched over, kneeling in the center of the room under a solitary light. The girl is young, but she is not cowering. Snoke’s figure hovers over her, staring with a bemused sort of interest.

 “Come closer, apprentice,” he orders.

Kylo steps forward, looking down at the girl for a brief second of curiosity. Her hair down, her body clad in small, black robes, he doesn’t recognize her. Not until she looks up at him and he sees that familiar, unquenchable hunger that has not left even though her eyes are less sunken and her arms appear stronger.

“This,” the Supreme Leader introduces without emotion. “Is Rey.”

The girl’s eyes dart from Kylo to Snoke. Her fingers tighten their grips on the fabric of her pants.

Kylo looks up into the projection. “Supreme Leader?”

“She is much like you,” Snoke states. “Young. Strong in the Force. Look at her, Kylo Ren.”

He does. He sees hazel eyes, a smattering of freckles. There is nothing remarkable about this child to him, but it is not his place to question the Supreme Leader’s wisdom.

“Rey will be trained.”

His eyes widen. Rey sits, her head bowed down. Excitement thrums in Kylo’s chest, his pulse. Is she meant to become his apprentice? That the Supreme Leader finds him ready to teach-

“Not by _you._ ” Snoke’s face is expressionless, passive. “She is to be a test.”

Kylo kneels down, bowing his head. “I am ready for whatever trials the Supreme Leader deems me worthy of.”

Snoke lets out a slow, thoughtful noise. “It is time to consider how we might prove the worthiness of the Knights of Ren.”

“Of course, Master.”

“As you know, there is no greater threat to the future than the shadow of the past. Such considerations must be cast aside, risen above.”

Kylo’s mind goes to the helm in the dark corner of his room. He presses his lips tight together, only bowing his head further at Snoke’s underlying admonishment. He is not strong enough to match the will of Vader, he knows this.

“No you are not,” Snoke agrees, reading his thoughts. “But in time, you will be. Of this I have no reservations. The girl will be your incentive.”

“…Supreme Leader?”

“Rey is to be trained in the ways of the Sith.” Snoke’s fingers wrap down on the ends of his throne. “The ways of your grandfather. She is young, but I have seen that with time and instruction she will become your match in power. Perhaps surpass it.”

The girl does or says nothing. But Kylo extends his will in the Force, feels the bristling anger and _survival_ underneath the veneer of an obedient child.

“Prove that you are stronger than the ties that hold you, Kylo Ren.” Snoke leans forward. “ _Show me_ that the way of Ren will be what leads the First Order into the future and reforges the galaxy from the broken shards the Jedi and Sith made of it. Claim your strength in the ashes of your opponent.”

Kylo looks again to the girl—this thin, starving creature that will one day be the final test of his abilities. And _anticipation_ floods him.

“Yes,” Snoke croons, straightening in his throne. “Now you understand the potential of a _true_ rival. A Master without challenge is a Master which decays.” Rey, for the first time, looks up at the Supreme Leader. Snoke smiles at her, almost paternal, before he continues. “When Rey has completed her training, she will return here. And we will see whether it is the Sith, or the Ren, who will lead the Knights of the First Order.”

He swallows, palms sweaty. “I will not fail you, Master.”

“Time will tell,” he gestures with his hand. “Rise, Kylo Ren.”

He stands.

“And you, Rey.”

She pushes herself up. She is so _small,_ hardly above Kylo’s waist in height. But she faces him and there is no fear in her expression.

Instead, she _smiles._ A gentle and uncalculated expression that unsettles him far more than if she had thrown lightning at his chest. This slip of a child is who will grow into his final test. Who he is destined to one day defeat. But she does not tremble or cower.

“Look upon each other well,” Snoke says as his hologram begins to flicker into darkness. “For the next time you meet in this room, one of you will die.”

The parting words echo, leaving them alone.

Rey outstretches her hand.  
Kylo stares down at it, at the small arm it’s attached to. The wide eyes, the missing front tooth. She does not yet realize who she will become. Does not understand the value of Snoke’s interest. It angers him.

With a sneer of dismissal, Kylo turns from the child and leaves without a look back.

  
\--

The desert rat had best become worthy of the Supreme Leader’s faith in her.


	2. Branding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much everyone for your interest! couldn't resist another update :3 i'll be getting to comments shortly!

__  
**part one.**  
_Choose someone more devious and you’ll hold the blade that kills you._

\--

She’s late.

Something that would be inconsequential, beneath his notice. If not for the Supreme Leader’s insistence that _Kylo_ be the one to provide her welcome. So now he _waits_ in the docking bay of _The Finalizer,_ a respectable amount of Stormtroopers waiting with him. Because it would not do well, he thinks bitterly, if the Supreme Leader’s pet interest was not greeted with appropriate pomp.

It is the first time in eight years that the girl would set foot upon this ship. Kylo gave no investment to how she would receive it, but the Supreme Leader’s will was to be obeyed. If Snoke requested a retinue, a personal escort of Kylo Ren himself, and the second-best quarters made available, it was not his place to question it.

It _was_ his place, however, to be agitated. As it’s been a standard hour since her pilot comm’d for her arrival. And it’s yet another twenty minutes before he sees her shuttle come into view. It is, he notices with some superiority, only a _Lambda_ class. Older than his model by what he expects to be ten years. It lands well enough, a feat Kylo would have thought impossible due to the pilot being completely incapable at calculating trajectories.

The gangway lowers. A contingent of Stormtroopers leads, blasters in hands. Then the members of the crew, their black uniforms pressed in sharp creases.

He has not seen her since she was a little girl, a rat plucked from the desert. And despite himself, he wonders who it will be that descends from the battered shuttle. What it will feel like to see the face of the one destined to fall by his hand.

 The doors hiss. And a slight figure clad in black steps forward. Kylo observes her coldly from his position.

Rey. He tries experimentally. His opponent, his final trial. Her name is _Rey._

She is at first nothing but a small blur of colors, an accumulation of features that finally assembles into a person as she and her troops walk forward. He remains unmoving, his mask allowing him to observe without discretion. There is still the smattering of freckles across her cheeks, over her shoulders—she has been training outdoors, then. Not solely in Snoke’s facilities as he has been lead to believe. The robes she wears are styled in the old ways: harem pants tucked into calf-high boots. An undertunic that formed a stiff collar around her neck and ended just below the knees in a taper. A sleeveless, black shirt over it, cinched at the waist with what looks to be a utility belt. Her arms bare but for the fitted, chromatic gauntlets resting over fingerless, elbow-length gloves. Her hair is half-down, the rest in a lazy knot, and it, along with her one-shouldered cape, obscures the holster that straps across her chest.

It must hold her lightsaber. He knows what forms she favors, Juyo and Ataru, styles she’s mastered as intentional foils to his own. He also knows that she’s created a double-bladed saberstaff in the ways of the Sith traditions. Ancient weapons and skills of an obsolete order.

Once they are within a foot of each other, she and her troops halt. Her hands fold neatly into the pockets of her pants, and her expression becomes one of disinterest.

She looks. Bored _._

He tries not to rankle at the insolence, instead glaring down at her as if his mask can communicate the force of his will. She returns the speculative gaze she cannot possibly see, starting at the toes of his boots and traveling up. Slowly. He stands, tense and agitated and not sure why _this_ woman’s reaction to him should be of any consequence. Her _feelings_ are of little value at all.

She tips her head back.

“No one said you were tall.” Her words have the barest trace of a Coruscanti accent.

He counts to ten, makes it to five. “Clearly Sith training has prepared you for observation.”

In response, she grins like they’re old friends. Like she hasn’t been sent here to monitor _his_ knights. Like they aren’t one day destined to kill each another. His eyes once more go to the holster, the lightsaber out of sight but far from out of mind.

“It doesn’t make a difference,” she judges aloofly. Her eyes drift from him, to the Stormtroopers who accompany them. They are two, robed black figures in a sea of white. The look she sends him next is one of pure dismissal _._ “I understand that I have a room prepared?”

His mask amplifies the harsh, irritated intake of breath. He hunches slightly, turning and stalking toward the body of the ship. “Come.”

She waits until he stops before walking next to him. “Of course. Lead the way, Lord Ren.”

\--

Eventually he slows the natural gait of his legs after she (and her detail of Stormtroopers) refuses to alter her pace. Her steps are slow, nearly languid. And he is proud in her bearing—back straight, chin tilted just slightly up. The hazel of her eyes flickers with an amber glow when she sends him a measuring glance.

“You believe this was my idea.”

He doesn’t bother to hide his disdain. “It’s obviously an advantage.”

“One I must need.”

“I think a Sith would need to be better than most at deception, yes.”

“As opposed to the Knights of Ren with high morals.” She tilts her head, amused. “What is it that you’re supposed to stand for, again?”

He Force-parts the door before them with an agitated lift of his hand. “Modernization.”

The girl— _Darth Nema_ if the rumors were true about her assuming a title—stalls her walking. Her feet pivot to face him, and she looks up straight into his mask. “I suppose now is as good a time as any for this.”

“For what.”

Her brows raise. “You think I haven’t noticed you spying on me over the years, Kylo Ren?”

He stills.

Her eyes once again flash. “I would say _that_ counts as an advantage, wouldn’t you?”

His fists clench at his sides as he cranes his neck to look down at her. Her face is almost impassive, if not for the small wrinkle between her brows. Her power is a muted, subtle thing between them that has him instantly wary.

There is truth in her words. Over the years, he had not always been able to sate his curiosity with hypotheticals. Sometimes his meditations lead to thoughts of the rival he would one day slay. And when that happened, he would see her. Alone. They shared a Master, but most of her teachings were given to her by ancient holocrons. Droids _._ This had been the life of Snoke’s precious _Sith,_ kept locked away on some remote planet named Lehon with only ghosts and scraps and Stormtroopers for company. It…had been a comfort, in his weaker moments, to know that Snoke had kept the girl alive to challenge him. That his efforts and training would have purpose beyond the immediate failures he faced. That one day, he would be able to erase this last product of the Sith from the galaxy and carve the path ahead of him into a newer, stronger image.

He had not anticipated her being able to sense his presence. Never had she given any indication of it-

“But I could.” The girl gives an absent hum, before she starts walking again. Her feet easily avoiding the billows of his own robes. “I assumed there must have been something about my…training that intrigued you.”

“My investment in your training was cursory.”

“Right, then.” The corners of her lips curl into a grin once more. He is beginning to hate the expression.

He watches her. The folds of her tunic form into a V that goes down her chest, the edges of her collarbones visible. Her arms are coiled with muscle, bare but for the black wrappings. She is. Older. And far more of an annoyance than he anticipated.

She is also here to usurp him.

“It _wasn’t_ my idea, by the way,” she says as he continues to escort her down to where her guest quarters are situated. She eyes the halls of _The Finalizer_ with a wary sort of disdain. Kylo vaguely remembers her being on the ship before, years ago. “The Supreme Leader requested my presence in observing the training of the Knights.”

“ _My_ Knights.”

“Of course,” she says noncommittally.

“And what does the Supreme Leader hope to gain from your…visit.”

She faces him, a tendril of hair falling over the clasp of her cape. “I suppose that’s something we’ll both be finding out.”

“And the length of your stay?”

“For as long as Supreme Leader finds my staying valuable.” She looks forward once more, a hint of amusement in her next words. “It’s no trouble. I’m an old hand at waiting.”

Kylo evaluates her out of the side of his mask once again. She is young, still. Eighteen, if the dossiers in Hux’s records were to be trusted. He will not allow her to dig under his skin, no matter how intent she is on doing so. For now, he must put his own concerns aside and instead place his trust in the Supreme Leader’s wisdom—Rey’s presence is ordered, and Kylo intends on finding a benefit in the prospect of her company.

“Stay as long as you wish,” he manages in a flat tone. “It makes no difference to me.”

Once again her hands return to her pockets. “If you say so.”

A spike of annoyance, his next words not as flat as before. “I just did.”

She is salt on wounds. Proven by her next statement. “In case you were wondering…”

“What _._ ”

“The Supreme Leader thinks you need more training before we are to face each other.” She gives a nonchalant roll of her shoulders. “Our final duel is not going to be set during this visit.”

His jaw clenches. With stiff, abrupt movements he hits a panel on the wall. It slides, revealing the quarters Hux’s team has prepared for her arrival. They are equal size to his own, furnished nearly identically. “Your rooms.”

She gives a short nod. “That’ll be all until tomorrow?”

“ _Yes._ ”

Her eyes dart up to the mask once more. He glares down, angry and despite himself _intrigued_. Her eyes narrow, just a little, before she blinks. A sharp look at her retinue and all but two Stormtroopers disperse in quick, rehearsed movements.

“Lord Ren,” she states crisply.

Her title comes from the back of his throat. Barely softer than a grunt. “…Nema.”

In a brazen move, she turns her back to him. He eyes the light waves of brown hair over her shoulders, mentally considers where her vulnerable points might be. He barely smothers the resentment at having her so blatantly dismiss him as a threat.

Rey sends him a look over her shoulder, before her fingers press the inside panel control and the door slides shut. The two remaining Stormtroopers flank either side of the entrance to her room. Disciplined. Controlled.

Kylo tilts his head at one of them.

…and loyal.

The Stormtrooper’s mask gives away nothing. And Kylo scowls at the door one last time before he stalks down the halls to his room.

\--

That evening, none of the training droids are spared. He rips through them, one after another, seeing freckles and amber-glowing eyes every time he plunges a lightsaber into their mechanical bodies.

\--

“And how is our guest settling in?” Hux’s tone doesn’t seem to imply investment one way or another, his gloved hands flipping through datapads with purpose.

Kylo stands beside him on the bridge the next day, hands clenched at his sides. “Snoke’s pet is none of my concern.”

Hux’s pale lips press together in a refined sneer. “She is no more a pet than you are.” A smug look crosses his face, as though that prospect pleases him. “And, if rumors are to be believed, it is entirely possible she will be taking command in a few short years.”

“You doubt me,” Kylo hisses.

Hux looks up from his reports. His red-rimmed gaze taking on a slightly vindictive quality before he returns to reading. “It is not for me to question the Supreme Leader’s will…”

“Then don’t.”

“…but if he wishes for his ideological crusade to culminate in the death of one of his…” Hux’s shoulders raise near imperceptivity. “Whatever you are, I have no personal stake in the religious control of this operation. Only in the tangible.”

He hears what the General is not saying. “You’d prefer the girl.”

“It has been made quite clear that the preferences of military command will not be taken into account.” Hux passes off a datapad to one of his officers. His fingers tug the edge of his opposite glove, tightening the leather around his grip. “This is _your_ holy war. Not mine.”

“But.”

Hux’s thin lips pull into a cruel smirk. “But yes, if I had a preferred victor, it would be the girl.” He looks at the chrono on his wrist—an affected gesture, as Kylo is sure the sniveling man has an impeccable internal schedule—and pulls snug his other glove. “Whom I am scheduled to meet. If you’ll excuse me-“

Kylo falls into immediate step beside him. He has no love for Hux, but does not undervalue his role in the Supreme Leader’s forces. If the General is meeting with Rey, it does not bode well for him. “About?”

Hux sends him an agitated sneer. “Darth Nema has expressed an interest in our Stormtrooper regimens.”

“Why.”

Hux’s next words are clipped. “ _Perhaps_ because it is the backbone of our entire operation. There is no Order without _my_ soldiers, Ren. Something you would do well to remember.”

With a final, scathing look, Hux strides forward into the repulsor lift. He deliberately closes the doors before Kylo can go forward. He seethes as Hux descends, nearly vibrating in rage.

“You,” he growls to one of the officers at his side.

The woman startles, head snapping up from the console she was using. “Me, Lord Ren?”

“Yes.”

She immediately pushes herself up, standing in quick, polished attention.

He gives a dismissive glance. “Send the girl’s itinerary to my personal console.”

The woman—a petty officer by her insignia—pales. “Lord Ren…”

“Is there a problem?”

“Darth Nema’s-“ His lip twitches at hearing the title from one of _their_ officers. “-schedule is classified, my Lord.” Her nostrils flare, just slightly. “Only the Supreme Leader and General Hux have access to it.”

Darkness pulls at him, the hold on his building frustration at _her_ presence on _his_ ship transforming into a frayed tether. The petty officer must feel it too, as the blood drains from her face.

“Are you disobeying a command?”

“No, Lord Ren! I only-“

“Then send. The itinerary.”

Hand shaking, her arm pulls into a salute. “I-it will be done, Lord Ren.”

“You have an hour.”

Her voice is strained. “Yes, Lord Ren.”

With no other need of the bridge, or it’s less than palatable occupants, Kylo strides to the clarity of his own meditation chamber.

\--

He is late into his reflections, when there is the sound of a _knock_ on his door. Kylo keeps his eyes shut, his senses stretching out to see who dared to disturb him-

-and is not surprised to feel _her._ Her presence in the Force is a burning brand, white-hot and impossible to avoid in its light. It brushes against his own, and the resulting headache is almost instantaneous. Her wordless request for his presence a low vibration.

He should not indulge her.

Another knock. Light, almost polite.

Kylo’s eyes flicker up to the helm of his grandfather. He stares into the twisted, charred metal before he lets go of a slow breath and stands. With a thought, he closes the door to the chamber and exits to the main room of his quarters.

He grabs his mask roughly from its stand, slamming it on before he goes to greet the subject of his ire.

\--

“You missed brunch.”

He looks down at her. She is dressed in near identical clothes as yesterday, the same aloof disinterest surrounding her.

 _Brunch,_ he thinks, is no doubt something of Hux’s creation. “What do you want.”

“To give you something.” Her fingers push back the edge of her cape, revealing a datapad attached to her utility belt. With effortless movement, she unhooks it and raises it up in offering until it is about even with her chin, his chest.

He stares at the harmless looking device, wondering what it is she is planning now.

“It’s only a datapad,” she chides.

He grabs it. In his rashness, his fingers—ungloved from meditation—slide against hers. Her skin is rough and calloused, much like his own. But her touch is warm and not unlike the brand of her Force signature. Her face is impassive, but he draws in a ragged breath before he claims the device for himself, snapping it away from her grip—and skin—as quickly as he can.

There’s no passcode. He flexes the hand holding the datapad before using it to scroll. The screen gives him times, locations. A schedule.

“I heard you were asking for it.”

Kylo looks up. Rey’s eyes glow yellow in the darkened hallway.

“All you had to do was ask,” she supplies—and how he loathes her in this moment. “I have nothing to hide.”

Because she does not view him as a concern.  
Or threat.

“No,” she agrees with his unspoken thoughts, once again slipping into his mind and claiming what is on the surface of it like the hungry creature she is.  Her next statement is detached, rehearsed: “Our fates rest in the grace of our training.”

He bites out the only thing he knows for certain about her. “You are foolish.”

“Maybe,” she agrees. The Sith takes a half step back. “Until tomorrow, Lord Ren.”

Tomorrow. When she joins his Knights for training.

Kylo doesn’t watch her retreat. Instead he turns, violently slamming the door of his quarters behind him. The datapad is thrown on the ground as he allows the grip of her phantom fingers to be replaced with the hilt of his lightsaber. He turns his weapon over and over in his hold, until there are scars rendered into the metal of his walls and he no longer feels that branding presence upon him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Nema from Nemo, meaning No One


	3. Resolve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **waves awkwardly**  
> sorry for the wait, everyone, and thank you for comments/kudos in the meantime!! <3 <3 <3 hope you like what comes next.
> 
>  **warnings** this chapter for murder/described death

The test of his resolve, he thinks, is that he cannot kill her yet.

He sits in the middle of his rooms, eyes closed as he attempts to center himself. Around him, maintenance droids work near-silently, replacing scoured panels and severed wiring. The time for meeting _her_ in the training grounds grows nearer, and Kylo is acutely aware of the seconds, minutes, and hours that draw him closer to their next encounter. He digs his fingers into the fabric of his robes, fighting the curl of his upper lip as he tries to find the wisdom that no doubt existed in the Supreme Leader’s decision to have her here. To have her following him like a parasitic shadow, when it’s not yet time for their final battle.

Kylo suspects it is an exercise of patience, endurance. That Snoke has brought her here as a temptation to disobey his command—she has been on _The Finalizer_ for 30 hours, and Kylo has already had to stifle the urge to remove his competition.

His resolve is stronger than that. He will show it to his Master. Kylo _will_ wait, until she is fully trained. A worthy opponent. As the last Sith, Kylo cannot beat Rey at anything less than her best if he is to solidify the path of Ren as superior.

Kylo draws in a breath. Swallows.

He will obey the Supreme Leader’s command in all things. The girl is a test that can be passed.

“Lord Ren,” a protocol droid calmly addresses him. “Training to begin in ten standard minutes.”

He fastens his mask. Today, he will be more in control of his emotions.

\--

Kylo is directed to the higher levels of the training facility. The observation deck is a thin hall, framed by railings that separate it from the drop down to the training room floor. In the distance, he sees the chromatic sheen of Captain Phasma’s armor, towering over a brown-haired figure in black. The two appear to be in conversation—one that abruptly trails off as soon as he approaches.

“Chatting?” He asks acerbically.

Captain Phasma immediately stands at attention, dipping down her helmeted head. “Sir,” she greets.

Rey stares at him, an impassive look on her face. She rests an arm against the railing, leaning back against it far too casually. It strikes Kylo’s mind, for an instant, to throw her over it—especially with the odd tension that surrounds the Stormtrooper leader. As if Rey senses his thoughts, she slouches further.

“Lord Ren,” she states.

“Nema,” he bites out.

Rey gave him a neutral nod, before turning back to Captain Phasma. “Will you be joining us?”

Phasma says nothing, as if giving Kylo an opening to express a preference. He doesn’t take it. Smoothly, Phasma tilts her head. “I will be overseeing combat examinations on the planet surface this morning.”

“Sounds important,” Rey observes.

“It is in the First Order’s best interests to have the best soldiers.” Phasma seems to catch herself, “All by the will of the Supreme Leader, of course.”

“Of course.” Rey stands up, brushes off her pants. “Glad we were able to talk.”

Kylo tenses.

“As am I.” Phasma’s voice is as cold and distant as ever. But something about this exchange does not sit well with Kylo. “I’ll leave you to your training then, Lord Ren. Darth Nema.”

“Captain,” he mutters.

“Goodbye, Phasma.”

Kylo eyes the woman as she leaves, and it’s with a great reluctance that he turns back to Rey. She has turned to face over the railing, her forearms resting on it as she stares down at the training floor. He tightens his jaw before he takes the step to stand next to her. The area below them has been cleared for combat, and is currently populated by a handful of Stormtroopers. Kylo hasn’t bothered to learn their designation, let alone their faces, and so is immediately disinterested. The Knights will train after them, and he’ll focus more thoroughly then.

Instead, his attention goes to the girl.

Rey is no doubt aware of his stare, but she shows no discomfort. Instead her hair falls forward, resting over her one-shouldered cape as she observes the Stormtroopers. Two are lining up for a spar, one with dark skin and short, dark hair. The other pale, his red hair a shock of color on the floor. Hand-to-hand, from the looks of it.

“Making friends, I see,” he says dryly, if only to break the silence.

“We could be friends,” she suggests, not looking away from the training soldiers below them.

“I’ve no patience for political schemes,” he bites out, the irritation in his tone amplified by the mask he wears.

Rey shrugs. “Me either, normally. But it doesn’t make sense for us to be at each other’s throats until. Well.”

“Until we’re at each other’s throats,” he deadpans with a slight snarl.

“It’s not good for morale, that’s all.” Rey watches as one of the Stormtroopers jabs his elbow into the side of the other, knocking him to the floor. “They’re talking, you know.”

“The Stormtroopers are Hux’s responsibility, not mine.”

Her brows raise. He stares at her profile, follows the slight twitch of her jaw with his eyes. “So you have no interest in the military training of the First Order?”

Kylo lets out a ragged exhale. “And I suppose you do?”

“Yes.” She moves slightly to face him. One of her elbows rest on the railing as she tilts her head to the side. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“ _Our_ concern,” he says slowly. Carefully, so maybe she can understand. “Is to the Knights.”

Her lips press together tightly. For once, she doesn’t look bored—rather…disappointed. “I suppose that will depend on future management.”

Anger flares in his stomach. “Which you believe you’ll have a hand in.”

She leans forward, and it puts her less than a foot away from him. _Too close._ Her eyes flash amber as she stares into the mask, her jaw clenched and brows drawn. He doesn’t move, though his instincts are telling him to _leave,_ to back away and get distance. It is hard to concentrate, but every word she says lands somewhere on his chest.

“If you want to underestimate me, that’s fine.” Her voice is low, with an undercurrent of violence that makes his heart beat faster. “But in the interest of friendship _,_ I am going to recommend that you don’t.”

“I’ve been training longer than you’ve been alive.”

She steps forward, whole body near flush against his. Encroached in his space, he can feel the heat radiating from her shoulders, arms. The burning brand of her presence makes him want to-

-he will not kill her. Kylo breathes, the sound of his inhale sharp enough to be amplified by the mask.

“Maybe,” she concedes. “But you don’t know what it’s like to be _hungry_. I do.”

His hands clench at his sides, the leather of his gloves making a light groan. He wants to grab his lightsaber, make her grab hers, and _settle this._ Because she can crawl under his skin in less than an instant and such dangers need to be removed.

Rey must understand his intent, because her eyes go to the hilt at his side. “If you want,” she goads, her voice a low whisper so as not to be overheard. “Strike me down.” Her eyes flicker, seem to stare straight through the mask. “But that means you’ve lost.”

His arms tremble with anticipation. His shoulders shift forward, hunching him lower so he can meet her gaze. Their faces mere inches from one another.

“ _Go,_ ” he orders.

She watches him carefully, her breathing level in the face of his shallow inhales. The slight crunch of her nose and the tension in her neck are the only things to give away her own anger.

“No.” She smiles, and it unsettles him more than anything she’s done yet. “I don’t think I’m going anywhere.”

His hand moves to his lightsaber-

And Rey takes an easy half-step back. The cold, hidden anger she had only a moment ago melts from her like a second skin. Smile still in place, she rolls her shoulders and puts her hands in her pockets. Kylo feels like someone left out to drown, the darkness needing an outlet that she’s just taken from him.

“Though I’m getting tired of standing around.” She rolls her neck, shifts a little from side to side. “Think I’m going to head to the training floor.”

Her smile is a gentle thing, so far away from the last one she gave him. He grabs the railing with one hand and imagines burning a hole through it.

“Maybe I’ll see you down there,” she says with disinterest, as if there’s no level of investment one way or the other.

Without another word, she grips the railing with both her hands. Rey sends him a final look over her shoulder before she pushes herself over it and falls two stories. Her cape flies out behind her, then pools when she lands gracefully on the floor.

Kylo hunches over the railing. With strained effort, he manages to remove his grip from his lightsaber.

She had waited only until his resolve failed to back away.

Rey looks up from her new position on ground. Her eyes are clear, her expression serene. Lips still smiling, she gives him a small wave goodbye.

She. Is _toying_ with him.

Slamming a fist on the railing, Kylo pivots and stalks down the hall—to the lift that will lower him to the training arena.

\--

When he arrives on the main floor, the red-headed Stormtrooper has been replaced with Rey in the hand-to-hand spar. Her cape lays in an undignified puddle near the edge of the mat, her lightsaber firmly secured to her back. He watches it as she moves, nestled in between her shoulder blades.

Once his presence is noticed, several of the Stormtroopers bow and stand at attention. He ignores them, glaring at Rey as she insolently trains with a _foot soldier._

She moves less gracefully than he anticipated, most of her movements originating from the waist as she uses her core to throw sloppy punches and kicks. Her partner matches them easily, the movements equally lackadaisical. This isn’t the intense fighting he was expecting. This looks like…play.

Kylo watches the Stormtrooper. His face is carefully blank, but he reacts about a half second before he should to anything Rey throws at him. She aims for where he blocks. They clearly know each other. Kylo’s mind goes back to the Stormtrooper who guarded Rey’s door, and he draws a quick line.

She was _close_ to this one. An advantage to be stored for later…if she wasn’t deliberately giving it to him.

Something bristles the edges of his senses. The Knights of Ren are here. He looks away long enough for there to be a heavy _thunk_ behind him.

Rey straddles the Stormtrooper, his back pinned to the mat. Her forearm rests across his throat, and she _grins._ The expression makes Kylo pause.

But it’s over as soon as it starts, and Rey is standing and walking away from the Stormtrooper and the mat. Kylo watches the man for a longer moment, frowning as the soldier merely stands and begins another spar with a different member of Rey’s contingent.

“The Knights are here?” Rey asks, picking up her cape and using it to wipe away the light sweat on her forehead.

“Feel free to go back to your routine.”

“I wouldn’t dream of missing this.”

Kylo grits his teeth, but the doors to one of the barracks slides open. Out file five figures, clad head to toe in black. All masked. No weapons—Kylo’s express orders for this excursion.

Rey stands in line directly next to him. Her arm brushes his. His hand flexes. She appears unaffected. “Is this all?”

“Full Knights are deployed. These are the newest recruits.”

Rey sends him a look out of the corner of her eye. “I was instructed by the Supreme Leader to meet the entire Order.”

“You will. Just not today.”

She glares. Satisfaction hits him.

“We’ll observe for today,” he states without room for argument. “Tomorrow, you may train with whoever you wish.”

“You’re not here to give me orders, Kylo.”

He scowls.

Despite her obstinacy, Rey is stoic by his side as two of the Knights make their way to the training circle. They bow their heads at Kylo, but ignore her as they pass. He thinks he feels her annoyance in the Force, but she gives no indication of it externally.

“My name is Darth Nema,” she says flatly, her back to them.

One of the Knights grunt in return. Underneath Kylo’s mask, there isn’t a smile. But it’s close.

The other Knight doesn’t wait for Rey’s Stormtroopers to clear the arena. In a violent move, he raises his arm and Force pushes at one of the sparring soldiers. The one with red hair is lifted by his feet and launched into the air, back connecting with a wall before he slides to the ground.

Rey goes absolutely still by his side.

The Stormtrooper Rey fought immediately goes to his fallen comrade. And Kylo is thrown when he looks right at the Knight and _yells._

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”

The Knight raises his arm-

It happens faster than Kylo can anticipate. One moment, Rey is by his side. The next, she is standing directly behind the Knight. Her brows are furrowed, mouth drawn tight.

The hilt of her lightsaber is pressed against the back of his neck.

“What’s your name?” She asks in a cold voice, furious.

The Knight looks to Kylo. Kylo watches, waits to see what happens next. “Graal,” he manages.

“Graal,” she says quietly. “I will not be disrespected.”

Rey taps the hilt. And one side of her saberstaff ignites in a flare of red, punching through Graal’s throat.

Then it disengages, and Graal’s body falls to the ground. Without looking at the corpse on the floor, Rey slides her lightsaber back into its holster.

“My Stormtroopers are under my protection,” she informs the remaining Knights. “You aren’t, yet.”

Rey turns to Kylo. Meets his gaze, her eyes glowing yellow. “I’m done for today.”

She strides from the room, the Stormtroopers under her command following after. The one that she sparred with sends him a slightly lingering look, before he grabs his companion’s arm over his shoulders and carries him out.

Once the training doors slide shut, a Knight turns to Kylo after glancing at Graal’s body. “Lord Ren?”

There’s only one command that matters at the moment. “Get me the designation for that Stormtrooper.”


End file.
